


You're Cute When You Blush

by youreyestheyglow



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-09 02:07:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1964853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youreyestheyglow/pseuds/youreyestheyglow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean and Marco meet while stuck in a long line for a fitting room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Cute When You Blush

I'm actually going to shoot myself in the fucking face.

How. How is it even  _possible_ for the dressing room line to stretch across the store.  _What the fuck_. 

The guy behind me seems perfectly okay with this. 

I'm not gonna lie, I'd been spying on him in my phone's reflection. He was cute, all right? He was cute as hell and also appeared to have the fashion taste of a god. I was trying to pick up tips. It was hard, though, I couldn't actually see what was in his hands - the angle my phone had to hit to reflect his clothes was fucking  _awkward_.

I lower my phone slowly, taking full advantage of the unmoving line and the huge amounts of time I had, tilting it a little - and a little more - aaaaand -

"Oh, that's really cool, what kind of screen protector do you have? It makes it look like your phone isn't even on!"

I turn around so fast I got dizzy. A 180 degree turn made me dizzy. 

Freckles is smiling at me, but he knows what's going on. He knows I was spying on him. He's giving me an out.

He'ss a fucking  _saint_. 

"I - no, it was off, I just - thought - there was something on my screen, see?" I show him my phone, flashing it in front of his face for about half a second. "Y'know, sometimes there are those smears that you can only see in the right lighting." Dumbest fucking excuse on the face of the damn  _planet_ , but oh well. He knew it was a lie anyway. Not like I had to cover up the truth here.

He nods understandingly. "Oh, yeah, yeah, I get what you mean. I wish I'd brought my glasses wipes, but I didn't even bring my glasses, so." He flashes me a grin. I get the strange feeling that I'm conspiring with him, like he didn't just catch me spying on him with my fucking phone. 

His arms shift a little, and I realize two things: 1. I'm staring. 2. His clothes are positioned so it looks like I was trying to look at his dick.

 _Noooooooooo_.

I take a deep breath.

Damage control through truth.

Honesty is the best policy and all that shit.

"Okay, I'll come clean. You're kind of really, really,  _really_ well dressed, and I'm kind of not, and I may or may not have been trying to figure out what you're holding 'cause fuck, I need help not looking like I just crawled out of a sewer. Like. How the fuck do you get yourself dressed in the morning, is what I'm asking."

It strikes me that there are about a billion other ways to say that, all of which are better worded and less stalker-ish.

Fuck.

His cheeks turn pink. "Oh. I - uh - you don't look that bad."

"I'm wearing an ancient Offspring t-shirt and jeans that I've had for five years now. Don't lie."

"W-well, it - it doesn't look  _that_ bad," he says half-heartedly. 

I stick one hip out and give him a look. 

He rolls his eyes. "Fine, you look a little like it's laundry day, but it's not as bad as it could be, so."

"It's not as good as it could be, though, either."

"No." He blushes at that, like he's afraid of hurting my feelings, and his eyes sweep over my body once before finding the ceiling. He sighs. "You'd look good in just about anything, honestly. You've - got - you have the body for it," he finishes as his ears turn red. "You just need to put more than a second or two of work into it."

Heh. He thinks I'm cute too. Fuck yes. 

I hold out my armful of clothing. "I - would any of this work?"

Three minutes of awkward shifting later, I'm holding his clothing and he's holding mine. He flips through my three shirts and my pair of jeans and raises his eyebrows at me. "This is your first time shopping here?"

"Yeah, why?"

His tone turns businesslike, and all traces of his pink flush disappear. "This shirt was in the middle of the store. Don't buy it. It'll be on the clearance rack in a month, 50% off at least. Also, these t-shirts - don't buy them. At all. Waste of money. The jeans are good, though." He takes his clothes out of my arms. "I'll hold your spot. See the flannels over there? Pick a couple. Dark green. Maybe red. One of those sweaters over to the right. Also, those short-sleeved shirts over there would look nice on you."

"No color recommendations for the short-sleeved shirts?" I ask dryly.

He flushes again. "Sorry, clothes are kinda my thing -"

I wave it off. "Nah, it's okay, I'd have no idea what I was doing otherwise."

I take his advice, grabbing shirts in dark green and red, and slide back into my place in front of him when I'm done. He nods his approval.

I suppose that should be it - I got his advice and stopped staring at him. But he nudges me. "This line - don't get put off by it. It's only this bad because they sent out some coupons and today's the last day to use them."

Is it me, or is he trying to make conversation? "I guess you shop here a lot, huh?" Did that count as a question? Shit, I'm too awkward for this. Should I say - oh, no, he's already talking. 

"Yeah, it's one of the only places that sells work clothes and casual clothes that I like."

"Where do you work?" The question comes out mechanically, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"The design department here," he says with a grin. "I helped design that shirt you're holding."

I glance down at the shirt, taking note of the way it's cut for a thinner body like mine instead of the boxy cut that makes me look like a stick. "Holy shit."

He laughs. "Thank god today's my day off, if I had to wait in line like this on a work day I'd be late."

I nod fervently. "Me too, actually. My boss would fire me if I was late. But I've got nothing to do today, actually. The whole rest of my day is free. Probably gonna be pretty boring, honestly. Talking to you is probably the most exciting thing that will happen to me all day."  _Oh my god Jean shut up just shut up you couldn't sound more desperate if you got on your knees and begged him to go on a date with you you've barely talked to him for two minutes now what the hell are you doing?_

He blushes. "Me neither, to be honest. I was mostly planning on going home and bingewatching netflix, but - um - yeah. Oh, what's your name?"

Oh sweet jesus I've been throwing myself at him and I never even asked for his _name._ "Jean. I'm Jean."

"Marco."

"That's - a cool name."  _Oh my god why would you say that Jean why?_

His blush hasn't faded yet. "Thanks. I like yours, too. Jean. Jsh-aan. French?"

"Oui."

He laughs. "Do you actually speak it, or do you just know the one word?"

"Oui, je le parle. Ma mère a l'enseigné moi." Oh. Wow. Of course. I'm speaking a language he doesn't understand, and  _now_ I'm speaking clearly. I finally get over my awkwardness just in time to speak  _another goddamn language_.

His mouth drops open. "Oh. Oh my god." His whole face turns bright red, and his blush spreads down his neck. "I - oh."

I can feel my own face heating up and I literally don't even know  _why_.  This is a fucking disaster.

He clears his throat. "That's - that's cool. Um."

I have to fix this. This awkwardness is my fault. "M-my mom and I moved here after I was born. She mostly spoke French around the house, so I picked it up pretty easily."

"So you've lived here all your life?" Marco picks up the conversation easily, even if he looks like he wants to sink through the floor. "How old are you?"

"Yeah. Twenty-three - no, wait, oh my god, twenty-four. You?"

He grins. "Twenty-five." 

I grin back. Good to know he's legal. Not that a guy with a body like  _that_ could be underage. Also, he has a pretty good job, and not the kind that you'd get as a summer job in high school. So I kinda knew he was overage, but damn, it's nice to have confirmation. 

He nudges me forward. "Your turn to grab a dressing room."

When did I get to the front of the line? I stumble towards the open room and close the door.

Wow. 

Wow.

He's fucking cute as all hell and he thinks I'm cute, I think, and he doesn't seem to care about how awkward I am - he literally said hi because I was basically looking at his dick in my phone reflection - and I just walked into the dressing room without even saying bye.

Then again, he didn't say bye, either.

So.

Is there a chance that maybe this isn't goodbye?

I've never tried on clothing more quickly in my life.

He's right, too. This shit looks better on me than literally any other clothing I've ever worn in my life. And he fucking helped design it. I am literally wearing his designs on my body. That's a little like wearing someone else's clothing, right? 

I come out of the fitting room and nearly walk into him, walking past my door as he was walking out.

He grins. "Did everything fit?"

"Yeah. Perfectly, actually."

"Good." 

We walk silently to the cash register as I frantically try to broach the subject of a date. Hell, I'd walk him to his car if he'd let me. "So, um..."

Marco waits.

Fuck, why did I say anything? Why did I open my mouth? I could've walked away and left him with an impression of me as cute and awkward and now he's gonna leave thinking of me as the creepy awkward asshole at the clothing store. 

I want to take a deep breath, but that's not happening. It's just not. There's no way in hell. Air isn't even a thing anymore. "Uh, if you're not doing anything after this - wanna get - um, a coffee or something? Do you like coffee? Tea? Do you like tea? Fuck, we could just -"

Marco laughs, he's laughing at me, he thinks I'm an idiot for ever thinking I'm on his level, he thinks I'm dumb for asking him out - "No, no, coffee - sounds great, honestly, I was - kinda about to ask you the same thing, actually." He rubs the back of his neck. "I - wanna just go to the starbucks here? The one right in the mall?"

I nod frantically. Oh my god, oh my god,  _he was gonna ask me the same thing_ \- "Yeah, yeah that's perfect."

The line to pay isn't half as long as the line to get into the fitting rooms, and we stand there next to each other. Silently. Every time I look at him, I blush, and the only reason I don't feel weird about it is because fuck, he's blushing too. Wow, he's really, really freaking cute, though. 

Cute as all hell. 

Shit.

He grins at me as we walk out of the store, bags in hand, and blushes up to his ears as he says "You're cute when you blush."


End file.
